


cold at night, hotter than hell

by sandpapersnowman



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Doppelganger, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt No Comfort, Jonathan Sims Is An Idiot, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, almost getting caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: This thing isn't Jon. It sends off every kind of alarm, every red flag, that this isnot Jon, just in the way it walks into Martin's office.The biggest red flag being that Jon would probably never come to his office.(please heed the tags!)





	cold at night, hotter than hell

**Author's Note:**

> i'd uhhh tag this as do not archive but frankly if one of yall sees this combination of tags and warnings and clicks it anyway. Rip
> 
> title from unlike pluto's [No Rainbows In The Desert](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/unlikepluto/norainbowsinthedesert.html)

This thing isn't Jon.

It sends off every kind of alarm, every red flag, that this is _not Jon_ , just in the way it walks into Martin's office.

The biggest red flag being that Jon would probably never come to his office.

"Jon?" Martin asks cautiously, even as it closes the door behind him and locks it. "What can I help you with?"

Almost Jon smiles, and that's another red flag — besides the fact that Jon barely smiles in the first place, he'd never direct one so sweetly at _Martin_.

"I wanted to see you," Almost Jon says. He doesn't bother sitting on the other side of Martin's desk, instead walking around it to hover dangerously over Martin. "Would you like to get lunch with me?"

Martin almost says 'yes' by default. The voice is pitch perfect, reconstructed cheerily, but his expression is wrong. It's too still as he talks, like a prosthetic attached carefully but imperfectly over his face, and Martin only notices because he's looking for oddities. Its eyes are wrong, too, seeming either too dull or too bright each time the light shifts as it talks, fidgets, never quite landing on the _right_ color.

"I already ate," Martin lies with a thin-lipped smile. "Thank you, though."

Once this thing is dismissed, he has to go find the real Jon. Tell Elias, maybe, if he can't find the real Jon, and… Figure something out. Make it stop wearing a Jon costume.

Almost Jon is not discouraged. 

"Oh, that's fine," he smiles.

In one fluid motion, it turns Martin's chair out from his desk and slips into his lap, at once too light and too _dense_ to feel right. Martin supports its weight easily, but struggles to move him.

"I'm not very hungry," Jon says casually, leaning in to speak against Martin's ear. "I think I'd rather you fill me up instead." 

The shocked noise comes out before Martin can stop himself, and Jon — not Jon, _almost_ Jon but not Jon — kisses softly along his jawline. It doesn't waste any time, either, slipping its hands between them and pulling Martin's belt open. 

"Jon —" 

"— Wouldn't that be nice?" 

Almost Jon's lips press over his so Martin can't refuse him, can't try to talk them out of it, just as a hand wraps around his cock and strokes over him slowly. He's not hard yet, but if he doesn't stop Almost Jon soon, he will be, and that'll be just the positive feedback the thing needs to try to... Do whatever it's trying to do.

"Stop," Martin gasps, turning his head violently to the side to free his mouth. "Stop it, you're not — this isn't like you," he stammers out.

"Is it not?" it asks. The question turns Martin's blood cold; if he admits to knowing this _isn't_ Jon, it could decide to end this game and skip to the part where it murders everyone or whatever it has planned.

"I-I didn't know you felt that way," Martin decides, playing along for his immediate safety. He hates himself for it, would maybe prefer being dead to continuing with this thing that isn't Jon and will never _be_ Jon, but in the long run, he's more useful to the real Jon alive. "Like this. Toward me," he clarifies.

Jon smiles.

"Me either," it teases. "Isn't it _strange_ how you can suddenly see someone so differently?" 

Martin smiles back and tries not to feel sick.

When Almost Jon kisses him again and it tastes like turpentine, Martin tries to imagine it's the real Jon. _His_ Jon, who would never really be _his_ out of disinterest on Jon's part and inaction on Martin's. The Jon that Martin has fantasized about every day for the last two years, who is probably locked away in his office skimming statements for relevant information and not sparing a thought to what his assistant might be up to.

He tries to pretend it's Jon even when he realizes it has too many fingers on each hand, with six wrapped around his cock and six wrapped around this throat. Even when it shoves its own pants down with unnatural flexibility, never leaving Martin's lap but still getting the clothes out of the way, Martin tries to pretend.

Even when something _drips_ , acrid and sweet, from whatever wet, pseudo-biological orifice it's going to use Martin in.

Even when it sinks onto him with its body so painfully cold that Martin swears and yanks its hips all the way down just to get it over with. 

Some delirious part of him is glad the thing is enjoying itself — it accepts all of Martin's cock at once, _gladly_ , and curls inward to leave shaky, shuddering kisses over Martin's throat again. Martin has always been a people-pleaser, even if the pleased thing is decidedly _not_ people. The satisfied little sounds it makes aren't, anyway. 

He doesn't participate beyond biting back noises and gripping its hips to keep his sanity, but it doesn't seem to mind. Martin stays hard either way, his body responding longingly even if everything else screams for it to stop. He squeezes his eyes shut and the thing allows it, for a while.

There's a knock at the door.

"Martin, do you have a moment?" 

His eyes shoot open at the same time Almost Jon covers Martin's mouth with a hand. 

"Well," it smirks. "Seems we have a guest."

"Martin?" Jon asks through the door again. "Aren't you in there?"

"Tell him you're busy," it whispers. "And nothing else."

Martin nods under six fingers.

"Yeah, sorry," Martin calls. Let him sound distressed enough for Jon to notice. Let Jon think, just this once, that it's odd of Martin to push him away. "I'm busy."

"Oh," Jon says, with some annoyance. "Maybe we can help each other, then," he suggests. "May I come in?" 

Martin wants to groan. Partly because Jon continues to be the dumbest man Martin has ever been head-over-heels in love with, and partly because the lookalike on his lap gives its improperly jointed hips a shallow jerk with Martin still sheathed in it.

"Tell him to go away," it whispers. "Unless you want him to join us."

Martin shakes his head fearfully. He won't put Jon in danger like that. And he won't make Jon see himself sunk down onto Martin's cock and Martin, as far as Jon might be able to tell, disheveled and wanting because of it.

"Later," Martin insists. "Please, Jon, I'm _very_ busy."

His voice cracks on the plea and he wants to beg to whatever higher power there might be for Jon to catch it.

It'd fall on uncaring ears, anyway. Jon does not. 

"Alright," he says shyly. He sounds _hurt_. "Come to my office when you have a moment, then? Please."

A tear falls as Jon walks away, from the fear and the hurt of Jon not picking up on a _damn thing_ and the sick, disgusting pleasure of the thing on his lap fucking itself down again. Almost Jon drags his tongue up Martin's cheek to take it away, making its own too-guttural, pleased noise at the taste of salt.

Martin hopes it kills him after. 

At least he knows Jon is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> supplemental: i'm also [sandpapersnowman on tumblr](https://www.sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com), and lyric/ille#8582 on discord! hmu!


End file.
